I'm An Ageing Poet: (Sonnet)

I'm an ageing poet with broken voice. I contemplate Modernity's ruins. Under sickly neon lights. O what choice Do I have but to summon my waning Gifts and powers to document these times? ! Yet my readers have now abandoned me. Still, I interpret harsh symbols and signs That mock the ways of Love and its vast dreams. Everyone I meet seems so self-absorbed. People sit apart and stare at bright screens. To my tired eyes, they look sullen and bored. Forced to endure the replaying of scenes, I cling to a fragile, inner light that guides Me as I watch rich worlds of beauty die.